


Predator

by whitherwaywill



Series: one chapter wonders [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, BAMF Hermione Granger, Dark Draco Malfoy, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitherwaywill/pseuds/whitherwaywill
Summary: It's been ten years since the Dark Lord defeated Harry Potter, and turned Britain into his personal playground. Draco Malfoy has survived by being useful prey, constantly living in fear. When an opportunity to shed that fear arises, will he take it?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: one chapter wonders [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689838
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Predator

Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to stay alive.

Draco was surrounded by sycophants and madmen in the Dark Lord's regime. He could count the people he trusted on one hand, _with_ fingers to spare.

After _he_ killed Harry Potter for the _second_ time – a dull river of anger coursed through Draco's veins at the very _thought_ that Harry Potter had had _two_ chances to save the world, and failed both times – the Dark Lord turned Wizarding Britain into his own personal playground.

No one was safe. His entire inner circle had been decimated by his own hand a few years back, clearing room for the next generation. Draco had watched as the Dark Lord killed both his parents for Narcissa's crime of lying about Harry Potter's first 'death'.

It didn't fully sink in that he had only survived his mother's betrayal because of the Dark Lord's whims until the Lestranges turned up dead – until the Dark Lord ordered his oldest, most loyal followers to kneel before him, and methodically executed them, one by one.

The Dark Lord was a predator, Draco realised, and the rest of the world was prey.

Draco had survived the ten years of the Dark Lord's regime because he made sure he was _useful_ prey, no matter the cost – no matter who he had to kill, no matter what depravities he had to _endure_.

Somewhere along the way, Draco had lost the ability to feel anything but the cold, biting drive to survive at all costs.

He found Hermione Granger by accident.

He was on a mission, finishing up a threatening visit to a town leader who wasn't acceding to the Dark Lord's demands as quickly as possible. It was a cold and damp night, and Draco knew that it would be just as miserable back at the Dark Lord's stronghold – cold and damp, with an underlying tension born of the fear seeping through the place.

That was why he stopped. Any delay was welcome, and the unpleasant weather was as good of an excuse as any. He wasn't expected back until the next day anyway.

The pub he stopped in was a hole in the wall, in a village that had flown under the Dark Lord's radar by dint of being so utterly uninteresting that even its own inhabitants fled as soon as they were able. It was reminiscent of the Leaky Cauldron; pub downstairs, rooms upstairs.

Draco got a room with no problem. He was more than ready to turn in for the night, even if it _was_ in a tiny bed with a lumpy mattress. The roaring fire warmed the small room in a way that his own room back at the stronghold rarely was.

He was just beginning to relax when someone broke in through the window.

They paused just long enough for Draco to heave a sigh.

"Fair warning," he said, "I am fairly important, and thus, generally quite dangerous."

The intruder silently shot a stupefy at him with – was that wandless magic? Draco was vaguely intrigued, but he swatted the spell away, stiffening.

So much for relaxation.

The next few minutes were a blur. Draco was good in a duel, and he had the advantage of a wand. But the intruder was fast, and shot spells he couldn't identify from their fingertips.

Finally, Draco landed an _Incarcerous._ The intruder fell back, landing awkwardly against the wall and sliding to the floor. Their face was still hidden in the shadows, the flickering light of the fire not reaching the corner they were in.

" _Lumos,"_ Draco hissed, steadily approaching them. "Let's see who dared to attack me on my night off, eh?"

A tangled mass of hair obscured their face. They didn't move, even as he crouched before them and reached out.

When he pushed back the hair, a familiar face looked back at him.

Draco settled onto his haunches. "Hermione Granger," he drawled, quirking an eyebrow. "I should've known."

"Malfoy," she spat. "Get rid of the ropes."

"No, I don't think I will," he said. "After all, you _are_ the last remaining member of the Order of the Phoenix. I think I'll get a gold star when I bring you back to the Dark Lord."

"Is that what you'll do?" Granger challenged him. "Turn me in, in exchange for a pat on the head from your master?"

"I really don't understand how else you thought this would go," Draco said. "Your plan was very ill thought out. Attacking me without a wand – my, my, you Gryffindors are more and more reckless, the older you get."

"Or _well_ thought out," she contradicted him. "Maybe I've got you right where I want you." She raised an eyebrow, mirroring his expression.

"Unlikely," Draco dismissed this. "You're the one in ropes." He stood and made his way back towards the fire, hauling her along with him.

"I've been watching you, Draco," she said, _insisting_ on conversation. "And I don't think you're as blindly loyal as your master would like to think you are."

"Hmm," Draco grunted, his mood souring. He couldn't believe his incredibly bad luck. What was supposed to have been his night of respite had been crashed by _Hermione Granger,_ the last surviving member of the trio he had so despised back at Hogwarts.

"I want to kill him," she said. Draco barely flinched.

He had long acclimated to the fact that one couldn't kill the Dark Lord.

"Get in line," was all he said.

"I _can_ kill him," Granger rephrased. "All these years, since – since – when I've been alone, what do you think I've been doing?"

"I rather assumed you'd died," Draco said, rubbing his temples. "We haven't seen hide or hair of you since Zabini smoked the Weasleys out. My condolences on the loss of your fiancé, by the way."

She flinched, but bulldozed on, refusing to dwell on his words. "I've been getting rid of You-Know-Who's horcruxes," she said flatly. "There were nine. Now, all that's left is the body he's in -"

"Stop," Draco said, his voice low and lethal.

" – and if I kill that body, he's dead – dead for good, never coming back. I think you can help me, Draco, I think you don't want to serve You-Know-Who, I think you want to be free – and if you help me, you _can be -"_

"Enough – _stop!_ Why are you telling me this?" Draco gripped his hair in his hands, eyes wild as his world crumbled around him.

It didn't make sense. The Dark Lord was un-killable, invulnerable, an apex predator, and Draco and Granger were just _prey –_

"Because I trust you," Granger whispered. Her eyes were hard, betraying the _ten years_ she had survived on the run, but there was still an innocent softness to her gaze that Draco didn't understand. "Because it needs to be done, and I need your help."

"You shouldn't," Draco said, hoarsely reciting his mantra: "Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to stay alive."

Hermione's lips flattened. "I need your help," she repeated.

He couldn't fathom the idea. But even as he gaped at her in shock, his mind was racing, formulating an idea, a plan…

It wouldn't work. The Dark Lord wouldn't die, then he would _kill_ Draco for helping Granger, and what would have been the point of Draco's body count? Of the _decade_ he had spent attending to the Dark Lord's every whim, in the name of survival?

It _wouldn't_ work.

All Draco could think as he stared at Hermione Granger was, _I will not be prey anymore._

It _could_ work.

The Dark Lord was untouchable. He couldn't dream that Potter's mudblood would resurface, that his most trusted acolyte would bring her in for the sole purpose of killing him, of destroying the last sliver of his soul that lived in his body.

It was an uncomplicated plan, beautiful in its simplicity.

Draco had survived ten years. He didn't know if he had another ten in him, even if he _didn't_ help Hermione Granger.

"Fine," he breathed, settling back into the chair. With a flick of his wand, he released Granger from her bonds.

She relaxed almost instantly, losing her battle-ready posture and sagging against the wall. It was clear that she still thought of him as the Draco Malfoy she had known, the wishy-washy ponce who was barely a threat to her. "Thank you."

Draco couldn't remember the last time he trusted so _blindly_. He thought he should pity her, but he couldn't summon up enough energy to feel anything but a vague sense of piqued interest in her direction.

Feelings were superfluous, and clouded judgement. The Dark Lord had taught him that.

"We need a plan," Granger was saying, pacing back and forth. Draco was stock still, all pent-up energy just waiting to be released.

"Simple," he said, before she could start pontificating. "I bring you in as my prisoner. You kill the Dark Lord."

"I don't have a wand," she said, cutting her eyes at him.

"Use mine."

She looked at the proffered wand warily. "You said I shouldn't trust you," she said. "Why are you trusting me?"

 _I don't know._ "I'm not," Draco said aloud. "I can kill you without a wand. What I can't do is kill _him."_

Granger nodded, her mouth a grim line of understanding.

"Get me close enough," she said, brown eyes hollow and haunted. "Get me close enough, and I will _kill_ him."

Draco felt a vicious, bitter sneer knife through his face, slicing through his numbness.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next time the Dark Lord held court, Draco brought his master a gift.

He threw a bound Hermione Granger to the floor before Lord Voldemort's feet like a cat dropping a dead bird before his owner.

"What is this?" the Dark Lord hissed, a pleased smile spreading across his pale, pasty face.

"Hermione Granger, my lord," Draco said, bowing over Hermione's struggling body. He saw her slip his wand out of her sleeve, her grip adjusting.

" _Finite."_ The ropes on her wrists dissolved, and she shot an _Avada Kedavra_ at the Dark Lord before he realised she was free, too busy gloating over her capture.

Draco killed the Dark Lord's right hand Death Eaters before any of them could even draw their wands. The room exploded in an uproar, lower ranking Death Eaters uncertain of how to react to the Dark Lord's death, and the betrayal of one of his most trusted advisors –

Some tried to attack him, but their bodies littered the floor before they could do more than draw their wands.

Draco stalked up the dais, making himself a target. He surveyed the room impassively.

"Drop your wands," he said, venom sluicing through his voice. An intoxicating rush of triumph and power roared through him as across the room, Death Eaters lowered their wands. Only a few tried to fight for the fallen Dark Lord, and within the next few minutes, their bodies decorated the ground along with their defeated leader.

Not breaking eye contact with the room, Draco backed into the Dark Lord's throne, slouching insouciantly.

"Dismissed," he said, and the room at large rushed out. Most would go cower in their homes, waiting to see how Wizarding Britain would change, for better or worse. Others would pack and run. Either way, the news of Draco's hostile takeover would spread.

Soon, the room was empty, save for the bodies, Hermione Granger, and a few Death Eaters. Draco recognized them from their masks as the only survivors he trusted.

Hermione trembled as Draco left the throne, stepping down the dais towards her. He stopped on the last step, towering over her.

"The Dark Lord is dead," he stated. "Are you satisfied?"

She swallowed, nodding. Her hand clenched and unclenched, wishing for a wand. He had taken his from her mere moments after she shot off the Killing Curse. "We can – we can make it better now," she said. "He broke the world. We can fix it."

Draco dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Wizarding Britain was broken long before Voldemort was even born. There is no way to fix it."

"So, what, you're going to continue on ruling the way _he_ did? Is the only difference that you're the one in charge instead?"

"What did you expect?" Draco said coldly. He felt an odd urge to reason with her, but he shoved it down. "It was me or one of his other followers, Granger. Believe me, I am the best option."

He felt two Death Eaters flank him, one at each shoulder.

"How," Granger hissed, tears bubbling up.

Draco shrugged. "I will let you live."

With a primal scream, she rushed him, firing wandless hexes.

It was impressive, but Draco threw her back with barely any effort. She crumpled against the wall. He walked over to her, and crouched before her.

"You betrayed me," she said, slumping.

He shook his head, cupping her chin in his hand. "This is your own fault, Granger."

She spat in his face.

Draco's expression didn't change as he reached up and wiped the gob of spittle off of his face.

"Your own fault," he repeated. "I have survived the Dark Lord's reign."

"You _used_ me," she cried.

He didn't dignify that with a response. Standing, he flicked his fingers in her direction, and the two masked Death Eaters – _his_ Death Eaters – yanked her up by the arms.

"I warned you," Draco said, turning his back on Hermione Granger. " _Never_ trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive."

Her curses and vitriol fell on deaf ears as she was dragged out of the room.

Draco stepped over the Dark Lord's body, and sat on his throne.

Finally, _finally,_ he was the predator. Never again would he have to tiptoe around a more powerful leader, never again would he daily fear for his life.

Gazing out over the lifeless room, he let the numbness take over.


End file.
